


Useless

by ferlocke



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Dragon Age Inquisition: Trespasser, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-11
Updated: 2015-09-11
Packaged: 2018-04-20 06:31:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4777097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ferlocke/pseuds/ferlocke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Spoilers for Trespasser)</p><p>In the Winter Palace, just before delving into the Darvaarad, Dorian discovers what is truly happening with the Inquisitor's Anchor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Useless

**Author's Note:**

  * For [geniusonceayear](https://archiveofourown.org/users/geniusonceayear/gifts).



> Spoilers for DAI: Trespasser.
> 
>  
> 
> [Reading while listening to the Dread Wolf Song of Trespasser just adds up the perfect atmosphere.](https://youtu.be/6LWEt06LrJE?list=FLHHW6-70c5o9wnLkM1wDE-w)
> 
>  
> 
> And, in case anyone's interested, [this](http://i3.photobucket.com/albums/y96/ferlocke/Inquisitor2_zpsnzfy0noz.jpg) is my Inquisitor.

Dorian knew it. Always did. He had warned him from the beginning. He did. Really. But now he doesn’t truly know who he was warning about what anyway. Were the cautions for Trevelyan? Really? Was it any different to tell his Amatus anything when he had always done what he liked? Wasn’t his unwavering willpower the first thing that drew his own attention on him?

_Try not to die. I would notice you were gone_

He didn’t even realize at first, not even when his heart wrenched a little, Maker knows why, after seeing him raise that sword in Skyhold such a long time ago, when he officially became the Inquisitor. That sword which was much more of a threat than any other thing. A threat to his heart, at least. He didn’t know at that time. He does now though. And it itches. Inside it itches. He doesn’t like its itching, it’s like wearing an ill-quality samite vest. He’d never wear such a thing.

_Try not to kill anyone without me_

No. He can’t pretend to cheat his own self. He wasn’t warning Trevelyan, he was warning himself. That someday, sooner or later, he’d break his heart. And it would hurt. A lot. Even more than wearing a dreadful plaideweave robe.

_I do rather like watching you leave_

Dorian remembers having said such things, having joked on him all the time whenever he saw him, wearing that terrible grey attire he of all people had learned to love, out and about around Skyhold trying to maintain order on the castle on one side while disordering his own heart and mind and body and soul on the other. And after everything they’ve come through, after truly realizing a love such as that was possible for him, with his disordered soul still bubbling at the mere perspective of seeing him, no, he can’t stand the thought of losing his Amatus this time for good.

Trevelyan’s said nothing. To anyone. In true Inquisitor fashion, he’s maintained it secret until it’s become inevitable. For the last few days he’s looked at him when nobody was watching and has noticed something was wrong about him. In any case, what any other thing could he possibly do but look at him? He’d leave for Tevinter after the Exalted Council, he had a task to fulfill, the only purpose that started it all and provoked him to enter the Inquisition, in fact. He could not stop now, not after his father’s death, after Trevelyan himself pushed him into forgiveness for all the pain his father had tried to inflict on him. In a way, it’s Trevelyan’s fault he’s leaving. He inspired him. He wants to do good things now, try to fix the rotten world they live in. Or perish in the try.

Perish.

It’s one thing to think about his own martyrdom. Statues held of him on Minrathous, books, chronicles, a verbose novel by that shortie Varric. It’s another to actually think about his Amatus’. Corypheus, he could stand, if he killed his Inquisitor, he’d go next. They were together on the fight, he could manage. He understood. It was _their_ war. Now the battle is only _his_. And he can do nothing to prevent it.

_So long as you promise to return_

That, he used to tell him.

Now he can’t.

He can’t do anything about it in fact and that’s what pains him the most. Nightingale has just told them. Another of his meltdowns, the hardest so far. And everything has gained some sense at last. The same sense that awareness has stolen off him. He’s everything but sense now. Night has fallen on Halamshiral and the Winter Palace rests easy unknowing what he’s now facing. It’s not the Qunari nor the impending war; it’s not the Eluvians, where they’re going or where they come from. None of that matters now his own world is shattering into pieces.

It’s the idea of all that happening anyway even if Trevelyan dies. There will be fuss at the beginning. He hasn’t taught him how to properly dress for any occasion for nothing. Of course people will notice his absence. But as happens with everyone, in the end, he’ll be forgotten. Yes. There might be statues, chronicles and probably a novel by Varric but all those will be just but a little glimpse of what he truly was… is. He won’t be talking about him in the past. Not now. Not ever. The world will continue turning but his own world will keep still and no one will be able to understand a single bit why.

Sitting on the stairs to the main plaza, Dorian takes his hands to his face and tries to breathe. His vision’s blurred but there are no tears. It’s just… the world becomes as sheer as the veil at the mere thought of losing him. It’s just that. It’s all that.

It’s been hard to convince him to lie down for a bit. Yes, the matter is urgent, the Qunari must be stopped and yadda yadda yadda but Trevelyan couldn’t even stand on his feet! How is he supposed to fight, How is he…?

Dorian sobs. It only lasts a couple seconds. Until Cullen’s new adopted mabari barks and he realizes what he’s doing. He won’t cry a single tear. Then he catches his breath back and stares at his Inquisitor’s door. He’s behind but he doesn’t dare trespassing. He can’t stand seeing him in pain, weakened, sweat running through his forehead; the mark glowing green, tearing his Amatus in pain, that… that… he can’t even find an adjective to describe the Anchor apart from fucking. All his politeness and classy demeanor and high education to finally come to a simple “fucking”. He couldn’t care less.

That door in front of him feels now even a bigger barrier than the one he built at first behind all the flirtation and jokes, when he came to know him and knew, just knew, that whatever he was feeling would pain him as much anything he had known so far.

He was wrong. It hurts even more.

It has happened just a couple hours ago but Dorian remembers as if it were happening again in front of his very eyes. He remembers they all were outside, they could hear Josephine and Cullen arguing, but those weren’t news. They even smiled at old times. But then… Then Dorian won’t ever forget the cry of pain he heard through the door. Even The Iron Bull got silent. Sera too. And, although he’s completely forgotten it, he knows he had been enjoying the story she was telling just before his heart froze.

He regrets not having able to act. The cry was still loud on his brain, his own body unable to move until Cassandra bulged against the door and opened it just to see his Amatus on the floor, the look on Josephine’s eyes trembling in horror. Then he listened to him and although his heart unfroze, it wasn’t any better. He’d rather prefer it to have remained frozen instead.

 _Kaffas_! It was the first fucking time he had truly heard Trevelyan’s voice clench in fear; his voice hadn’t shaken once against a thousand venatori, against a dragon. Not even against Corypheus.

Till then. A while ago. And it seems like ages.

And he said it. The thought had always been there, the possibility, the chance. They were all running risks; since all of them joined the Inquisition they had put their own lives on its service and death was just a possibility of which no one had ever talked about.

Until then.

“I don’t want to die”, he said and Dorian felt as if hearing his voice under water. His own brain felt like that. As if his soul had left his body and he was Dorian no more. He wasn’t actually able to feel his pain but he could swear he felt it. Right through his soul. And it was worst, it was even worst when he added he didn’t want to die knowing the world still needed him and then raised his look and noticed he was there, listening, watching, worrying, suffering.

Dorian couldn’t move and the Iron Bull had to go past him to hold his Inquisitor when he collapsed again. He was still conscious. He didn’t want to rest. He had to stop the Qunari, he had to go to the Darvaarad. And it was Vivienne who put him to sleep with a spell. Not him. Vivienne

He had been useless. He was useless.

The sob he withheld took longer to leave as he stood on his feet when the door opened. He had awoken. They stared at each other for a minute but it could have perfectly been ages. It felt too early to stop staring at each other. It was, however, too late. There were fireworks in the distance, everyone was waiting inside the palace.

Trevelyan was going to die and for the first time ever he couldn’t think of a suitable word. The pain in his heart had made him speechless; no, more than that, for that moment onwards, he was mute. And deaf. And blind. And he didn’t care because there wouldn’t be anything worthy of seeing.

He was going to die. And he himself had spent the last months travelling Thedas, enjoying his post as Ambassador, making plans. He had even crafted a magic ball to enable the both of them be together regardless of everything. And Trevelyan, his Amatus, his… He had known he was going to die all along but he had said nothing. And Dorian knew why and he hated him and loved him with equal intensity for that. Because he had decided to keep it silent to let the world go round once again, to spare everyone he loved of suffering.

But he was going to die anyway.

His blue eyes were shining with determination. He knew what he was going to say, maybe not his exact words, but, yes, he was about to say something like “Dorian, this is not the time” or some other epic banter. He had always been the one with the jokes and the puns while his Amatus had always been the straightforward one and now… now the only thing he wanted is for them to just be silent. Any word would just let time advance.

He stepped on and stared at him. Dorian didn’t notice at first he was standing on his way so they remained like that for just a moment. Their last.

And he felt he had to say something. At least that, something. There was a whole world wanting to come from his mouth, a whole world worthy of sharing but felt unable to put all he was feeling into words. At least something, he thought. But the truth was he couldn’t stop staring at his blue eyes.

Then he took his left hand. It was hot and the green shine surrounded both for a moment. He wished he could share his pain.

“Why didn’t you say something?” He resolved at last. “I could’ve… Don’t know. _Something_ ”

Trevelyan remained silent for a moment. He clutched his hand around his own even stronger and raised his head to stare him back. Dorian felt his lips tremble. He breathed in. It tasted like tears. No. He didn’t want him to speak back. It would be too much like a goodbye.

But he did.

“Whatever happens”, he started “I wouldn’t trade the years we've had together for anything. I love you”

“I knew you would break my heart.” By that time, although he had tried to prevent them, Dorian could feel warm tears rolling down his face, and it was worst when his Amatus cleaned them off his face and Dorian could only add a “bloody bastard” before kissing him and wishing for the thousandth time that night that time stopped.

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
